


Fortune's Favor

by patchworkgirl



Series: Wizard of Fortune [1]
Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-20
Updated: 2017-09-20
Packaged: 2018-12-31 20:12:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12140211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patchworkgirl/pseuds/patchworkgirl
Summary: Even elves get old eventually. Taako discovers he's got more than one goddess's attention as the end nears.





	Fortune's Favor

It feels right that he's alone.

 

He told Krav earlier—and he didn't lie—that he was feeling better, that he could come back this evening and things would be fine. Team Reaper was super busy right now, one of those little upticks in necromantic shit that seem to happen whenever a significant date rolls by. Elves see a lot of significant dates come and go. Taako'd had time to put together the pattern.

 

Nothing would stop him from raising one of them. Lup, even more than his husband, would pick up any call from him unless a bone dragon was in the middle of trying to bite her face off. Sometimes even then. He'd feel dumb if he were wrong, though.

 

As if there was anything left to feel dumb about, as if setting himself up to die alone didn't seem exactly right. Even knowing it wasn't the end of the story, it did feel like the right cap on his. Served him right, too, outliving every friend but one, and Ren wasn't really up to much these days, either. He only had about twenty years on her physically, leaving aside the century he could never decide whether to count. She'd retired decades ago, hung out with her grandkids and her exotic fish, mostly. Checked in on the regular, would be sad to hear it, but he wouldn't really want to put her to the trouble of his deathbed.

 

Everyone else was hundreds of years gone.

 

He wasn't really upset about it, even. He was the one who hadn't cultivated any friends of his own species, who'd poured everything into the business and the school instead of trying to fit himself into new relationships when the old ones melted away into death and memories. He'd already had more people than he ever deserved.

 

Would be nice if elves aged reasonably, though. He didn't have anyone left to complain to about how dumb elves were. That was too bad, maybe. Most people, in his observation, got to spend old age being weird and gross and theatrically annoying, and that just didn't work too well when you faded more than you aged. Every joint felt loose and brittle, he'd lost weight he couldn't really spare, and he'd lost a lot of color, especially around the temples and the freckles, but most people would look at him and see youth. Youth that couldn't get out of bed. Youth with rattling lungs and a gaping, horrible chasm of weakness inside that used to just eat away at the magic at his core, but had recently decided to gobble it up instead.

 

He shouldn't have told Krav he felt better. They'd all be pissed if they missed this. His hand shook as he reached for the stone at his bedside, noting with chilly detachment how hard it was, how his vision seemed to tunnel and his fingers shook.

 

His trembling hand wouldn't cooperate and the stone hit the floor. He could probably get to it if he just fell the fuck off the bed, but he'd really have to hope the first person he tried picked up, because there wasn't going to be a second shot. Lup was the safest bet.

 

He gathered his strength to roll toward the side of the bed, but it wouldn't come together. He really had left it too long. He'd been fine this morning. Well, able to sit up, able to breathe, able to move without feeling he might come apart into splinters and shards. A little.

 

Before he could start to really get mad at himself (if Kravitz found out because he received the official summons, there was going to be hell to pay), the light in the room brightened. For a moment he thought someone had come to check on him, but the light wasn't right for the reapers. They had their own Celestial energy, but even without godly expertise, this was another flavor of power altogether. It tasted different. He hadn't known light like this since, well, The Day of Story and Song. He hadn't been in her presence.

 

“Hello, Taako.” Istus sat on his armchair, busily knitting.

 

No one wanted to hear what had become of his voice in the last few years, if he could even get words out the way his chest felt. Fortunately, vanity hadn't let him give up any of his fancy toys. The Band of Projected Thought rested in its usual spot. _What's crackin'?_

 

“I thought I'd stop in and see my only living mortal retainer.”

 

He wasn't surprised to hear he had that title. Istus had experienced a bit of a resurgence for a few decades after shit went down, but she was a niche goddess. Not a lot of people were down for worshiping the principle that shit happens. He didn't miss the emphasis on “living,” either, though. _Bask in the last five minutes of awesome, I guess._

 

“Seven. After that, cardiac arrest, and for simplicity's sake, that's when they usually call it on the soul, barring extenuating circumstances.”

 

_I thought fate and the future are different._

 

“We're talking about a very narrow window, timewise and metaphysically.”

 

_Well, cool of you to check in, bubbeleh, but it'd be_ really _cool if you could, like, maybe get one of my dead but still mobile family on the line, tell them I'm on my way out?_

 

“Your sister will be here in time, though not with much to spare. Your husband and her husband are up to their necks in a flesh golem situation that won't be resolved for twenty minutes or so.”

 

_That fucking blows._ Maybe it didn't really matter, but it still seemed important.

 

“Fate does, sometimes.” In a move he recognized as rare despite not having met her more than a handful of times and centuries back, she set down her needles and pushed some of the uncomfortably lank hair out of his face. He just couldn't keep it up the way he used to, even with Kravitz to help. “It's hard to be a smoldering ember.”

 

_Pardonne-moi?_

 

“Sorry, something someone once said to me about elves. Your way out isn't as painful to look at as some, but I'm not sure that makes it better.” She shook her head. “You know I love you, don't you, Taako?”

 

_Yeah, sure, natch, I'm great_. He was glad he was past blushing. He had a lot less people around to remind him that was possible lately, though the ones left did a lot of work to make sure he couldn't forget. It was still... a surprise, every time.

 

“Of course.” She smirked and shook her head. “There's a reason I'm never overflowing with worshippers. I'm not to everyone's tastes, and the feeling is mutual. I don't choose many mortals. Some deities have retinues in the thousands.”

 

_I'd feel a little more special if you hadn't needed us to save the fucking world._

 

“Fair. There was some expediency there, and if it weren't for the emergency, I don't think I'd have chosen the you that you were then. You did what needed doing and you were amazing, but I think if you'd had to take another path to take care of Lup or the rest of your crew, you'd have thrown Fate to the wolves.”

 

_Your metaphors are mixed, but yeah, that's absolutely, one-hundred-percent true. With bells on._

 

“That's another limiting factor with me and mortals. You always love something more than the grand path that the world must take to remain the world. That's not a bad thing. You're supposed to love like that. You more than most.” He just projected incredulity at her. “Really. It's upside-down and sideways and the grain's going a weird direction compared to the way most people build their feelings, but you love more fiercely than most people ever manage.”

 

_I work out._

 

“But there's not much left for you to love, is there?”

 

_You know, this has been lovely, but if I could maybe have the remaining four minutes to myself and the ceiling?_

 

“Oh, don't get bent out of shape. You and I and a food truck and a teenager saved all of reality once. I can leave off the sugarcoating if I want.” She pointed a needle at him. “If the world hadn't been ending then, I'd have never chosen you. You'd have thrown everything away if you thought you had to. Agreed?”

 

_Sure._

 

“The people that you'd have done it for have, one way or another, passed beyond the power of fate to wound, in the ordinary course of things?”

 

_Yup._

 

“Keeping the world spinning on its course, whatever the individual consequences, observing and prodding and occasionally just straight up fucking with shit when the occasion calls for it and rarely getting out of your chair sounds right up your alley now?”

 

_Well, yeah—Wait. What?_

 

“I don't chose a lot of mortals for my retinue. I snag even fewer on their way into death. The sort of people who distinguish themselves before the gods are usually heroes, and heroes don't work well with fate. They're always trying to cheat me, or their idea of me. They want to save everyone, cut the Gordian knot no matter what. They'd always give in to temptation sooner or later, and that's how you get, oh, say, a scattering of immeasurably powerful artifacts capable of ensnaring the souls of passers by.”

 

_Point taken._

 

“Fate is cruel. Fate is cold. Fate is ice and glass and rockfalls on quiet villages. Fate is the forces that shape reality and keep it running, regardless of the collateral damage, sometimes. Fate can be beautiful, kindly, elegant, but it's just kind of a shitshow, too.”

 

_I'm starting to follow._

 

“Thought you might.”

 

_I could never really get my head around this shit, though. The difference between necessary and foreordained and that natural law shit, I mean._

 

“Oh, fuck me sideways, I never can, either. It just is. There's a lot of 'it just is' in my line of work.”

 

_So what's the offer, exactly?_

 

“Agree to join my retinue. You'll serve as my eyes and occasionally my hands. It's not as... interactive as the reapers' job, certainly. You almost never intervene, and when you do, it's in the smallest way possible. I'm breaking a few rules just being here right now. It's not for everyone, but it could be for you.”

 

_I do love breaking rules._

 

“And were you that psyched about fighting necromancers and guarding a gloomy prison for the next few thousand years?”

 

_Technically, she hasn't offered yet._

 

“She will.”

 

_So can I get twenty four hours to think about it?_

 

“Two minutes.”

 

_Aw, lame._

 

“Look, there are only so many rules I can bend. Once you're dead, you're hers, and she's not gonna be that happy about me poaching her talent as it is. I might be able to get it through eventually, but this is a lot simpler. And, honestly, it'd be good to see how comfortable you with a decision that'll carry you through the next few millenia in the next few seconds.”

 

Lup arrived in time to see her brother through his last moments. He didn't speak again, but he didn't have to. He wasn't alone, despite what seemed like his best efforts, and it wasn't the end. Though she did wonder even as she held him about the golden spindle she found clutched in his right hand.

 


End file.
